I measure my luck with the extent of how sweet a fruit I pick is. And so far, I’ve gathered that I’m about 10% lucky. I could be a little more optimistic, yeah, but situations come about.
It’s always a surprise with fruits. And God do I hate surprises. It’s similar to walking through an active minefield; you never know what’s going to happen. If the fruit turns out to be extremely delicious, well congratulations, you’ve successfully escaped a minefield. And although it’s a rarity, yet if it happens to you, you’re one of the truly lucky persons alive. I’m pretty unfamiliar with that feeling just by the way.
There’s substantiation of the figure that I’ve arrived at, of course. (Recall, 10% near the very beginning of this document). Actually, it explains quite a lot because every time, and I mean it in a literal sense that every time I’m eating cake, it drops down, cream first to the ground, with the frosting stuck to the floor staring back at me like it’s bemoaning my ill luck and me returning it the I-don’t-need-your-mock-sympathy-look. And luckily other times, when it doesn’t fall, I pick it up and throw it down myself because I feel like it’s tampering with the regularity.
Call it one of my quirks but I’ve certainly grown accustomed to the ill-luck that has been bestowed upon me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have masochistic instincts, no. It’s more like there’s this rather condemnable kind of satisfaction in knowing that I’m the chosen one…by the gods of ill-luck. Sigh.
Moving on, providing you with yet another instance that backs my claim. This one is more common but equally unpleasant. I’m going to make quite a lot of friends through this one as this one is almost a shared misery and I’m already envisioning people who have fallen victims to this instance of misfortune come to me and offer me a shoulder to sob on. I’m sorry to have brought this unfavorable incident up and made you relive it but I know the pain of buying something at an enormously high price and watching it go on sale the very next week. It’s worse when it’s not a one-time thing. You lie in bed one night and imagine all the money you could have saved if you hadn’t rushed it. In my case, I regret not being provided with the opportunity to buy a Shelby GT350R with the wasted money.
I hope you haven’t lost your patience with me just yet. I have more for people who take delight in learning about other people’s miseries. So, this one is about being terribly broke. I don’t mind being broke at all but the horror that presents itself while I’m at it, is just inexplicable. As soon as you’re broke, situations start coming about, startling you with their abrupt intrusion. Your daily face wash runs out; it’s okay you can buy a new one but guess what? YOU’RE BROKE. You finally make your peace with it by braving up enough to use a substitute for it; the usual soap but wait, your mobile data ends and you were only halfway into the month. You can no longer bribe your siblings into making them work for you so now you have to get up and make noodles on your own. These are the reminders LOL’ing at your existence.
I had a lot more piled up but I lost my enthusiasm along the way. I guess I’m just too proud to admit that I’m shedding tears while writing this sob story, as I need a clear head when I’m dealing with the writing stuff but I guess I’ll get over it as soon as an even worse set of misfortunes occurs.